


(of all persisting stars)

by Care, mermaiddrunk



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-05 13:32:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4181670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Care/pseuds/Care, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermaiddrunk/pseuds/mermaiddrunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I am a little disappointed that we never got our chance to stargaze and drink champagne." </p><p>Laura and Carmilla's first time, told from both perspectives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carmilla

_Carmilla_

She’s nervous, a little apprehensive even. The feeling surprises her. It’s been a while since she’s felt nervous about anything. Nervousness implies uncertainty of an outcome. Living hundreds of years tends to make the world a predictable place. Uncertainty is something Carmilla rarely faces. Except when it comes to Laura.

She sprints through the hallway with absolutely no grace, nearly tripping twice. Carmilla can hear her fast, determined footsteps, galumphing up the spiral staircase two steps at a time. She smiles, because Laura thinks she’s won, when it’s Carmilla who’s getting the prize.

Three, two, one… Laura bursts through the door in a flurry of victory, looking behind her as if to see whether she’s being followed.

Carmilla clears her throat, entertained by the slow shift in Laura’s expression – surprise and then indignation. “Well,” Carmilla looks down at an imaginary watch. “You certainly took your time.”

Laura huffs. "You obviously cheated."

"You didn’t really think you had a chance? Vampire, remember?"

She enjoys the way words bubble out of Laura, like some unstoppable force beyond her control. She considers that it might have annoyed her at some point, but Carmilla thinks back a hundred years and she struggles to find a moment when she didn’t love Laura.

Laura, who now goes on about _unfair vampire advantages_ and Carmilla replies in kind while thinking, “God, your _mouth_.”

Laura’s breath comes out in fast little pants, even as she talks a mile a minute. It takes her a moment to notice the champagne in Carmilla’s hand, the blanket draped over her forearm. When she does, her eyes narrow and her lips turn up. “You totally planned this.”

The neck of the champagne bottle is cold against Carmilla’s palm. It’s a 1996 Bollinger, one of only a few hundred bottled. She doubts Laura will be able to taste the difference between this and some cheap fizzy wine cooler. Still, she likes the idea of something so expensive washing down Laura’s throat. She wiggles the bottle and takes two slow steps forward. “I may have… given it some thought.”

Two more steps forward and a flush rises up from Laura’s neck and spreads along her jaw, a delightful blooming of heat. _Every fruit has a secret._ Carmilla spreads the blanket. Her palms are damp from the dew on the green glass bottle.

The solarium is dark, cast in blue hues and blacker shadows. The few overgrown ferns extend their leaves like withered, ghostly hands, only their tips touched by moonlight, but the night is clear, and the stars abundant. She doesn’t have to look up at them to know. They splash their light over Laura’s face and shoulders. Carmilla wonders, if she looks hard enough whether she’d be able to make out the constellations across her cheeks. Andromeda, Antlia and Aquarius, and Orion down the column of her throat, his arrow pointed to that thrumming vein.

Laura’s face is set in confusion and nervousness.  It’s stupidly endearing, the little frown line between her brows. Carmilla can practically see the little wheels and cogs in her brain furiously attempting to make sense of the situation.

"Oh. We're--gonna -- ?” Laura stammers and Carmilla raises an eyebrow in question. “Oh. I thought…”

She knows what Laura thought - the second Laura stripped off that silly little cardigan, her body, hot and close. It’s something she’s all too familiar with - the relentless strain of desire, the ever-constant ache that ebbs and flows according to Laura’s proximity. So of course she knows what Laura _thought_.

That doesn’t mean there isn’t any fun in dragging it out a little. And maybe, it isn’t about fun at all. Just maybe, there’s a part of Carmilla that wants to be sure that this _is_ what Laura wants. Despite grandiose speeches and flashbacks to simpler times, she needs to know that Laura _sees_ her. The girl inside the monster inside the girl.

As casually as she can manage, she says, “You wanted to stargaze, right?”

Laura, a little embarrassed, a little insecure, babbles. “Yes. Stargaze. This is, this is really good. Romantic."

And Carmilla smiles, her face a canvas of innocence and guilelessness. "Champagne?" She sits on the soft, fuzzy blanket, pulled from some closet in some dark hallway. The champagne pops with a nudge of her thumb and the bottle exhales a thin, white stream of smoke followed by a sour, fruity fragrance that makes Carmilla’s nostrils twitch.

The champagne is as light as spun gold. She produces two fragile crystal flutes from the shadows and pours it with finesse and looks up at Laura, still hovering uncertainly. Carmilla offers the glass to her and Laura kneels beside her and takes it carefully between thumb and forefinger.  “Thanks."

Laura shivers beside her and Carmilla nudges closer until their shoulders brush.

“This is nice.”

“Are you cold?”

Their words tumble over each other and Laura giggles softly into her champagne. She hasn’t even had a sip yet.

“I’m okay,” she says softly and looks up with an adoration that Carmilla feels completely undeserved of.

Carmilla can still taste her under her tongue, on the silky insides of her cheeks. The poets speak of flowers and fruit, roses and raspberries, but nothing tastes like Laura, nothing smells like her.

Carmilla watches her bring the glass to her lips, watches how she sips slowly, delicately, careful not to spill. Her top lip is shiny when she lowers the flute, a drop of moisture caught in the dip of her cupid’s bow.

Enough of coyness and restraint. Laura’s eyes are big and honeyed, her mouth wet and glistening and Carmilla leans in to lick that drop of champagne away. Her hand reaches out for Laura’s knee and bumps against the crystal, which topples from Laura’s hand and falls. The shatter echoes through the hollowed out solarium as champagne spills down Laura’s front.

Laura jumps back as Carmilla leans forward and there’s an awkward moment of suspended momentum. They look at each other, each uncertain, caught in this odd in-between place.

“I… sorry.” Laura’s voice has become a whisper and she reaches out to brush at the sparkly fragments, littered at her side, off the blanket and Carmilla catches her wrist.

“Are you okay?”

“I- yeah. Just a little wet.”

Carmilla turns her wrist over and Laura’s pulse thrums under her thumb. “Do you want a-”

“You.” Laura interrupts, with an edge of impatience leaning forward suddenly, her mouth a breath away from Carmilla’s. “I just want you.”

Laura's hand finds its way into Carmilla’s hair. Laura's fingers slide down and cup Carmilla’s neck to pull her close.

Sunlight, Carmilla thinks, withdrawing her previous assertion that Laura’s taste is inimitable. She tastes like sunlight. Sharp and surprising and warm, like sunlight after being in the dark, long after that coffin had been pried open on the fields of battle.

Laura’s fingers pluck at the collar of her thin sweater, and Carmilla is pulled in even further when those fingers curl into fists, drawing her so close their bodies sway as one. Laura’s mouth is insistent, impatient and Carmilla wants to say “It’s all right. We have time.” But she doesn’t know that they do. The stars are heavy in the sky, they might fall at any moment and so when Laura lies back and pulls Carmilla down with her, Carmilla goes willingly.

The front of Laura’s dress is damp, the stain and smell of grapes is a distraction against her skin. She kisses the corner of Laura’s mouth, the valley of her chin, the soft roundness of her cheeks, the furrow of her brow. And Carmilla lifts her head a fraction, wondering at that furrow and at all that it might entail.

Laura’s eyes are wide, reflecting the stars behind Carmilla, reflecting entire galaxies. She blinks slowly and there’s something in her gaze that makes Carmilla feel suddenly like a hunter with an arrow poised against her cheek, caught in the gaze of the deer she would devour.

Tentatively, with all the gentle precision of pulling back a bow string, Carmilla brushes her fingertips over Laura’s stomach, just under her ribs. Laura gasps and tenses, and Carmilla thinks, _Don’t run. Don’t run now._

“Is this okay?” She barely recognises the thin whisper of her voice.

Laura swallows. And then she nods, her eyes focused on Carmilla’s parted lips and Carmilla leans down and in Laura’s sigh she tastes sweetness and a kind of surrender.

She kisses her softly, slowly until Laura melts and burns. Until Laura arches her back and hesitantly reaches behind to fumble with the zipper of her dress.

This time, it’s Laura who asks, “Um… c-can… should I?”  

Lust tugs at Carmilla’s insides and her breath catches before she nods. “Yeah.”

Laura sits up on her knees and Carmilla watches her reach back and pull down the zipper, its teeth splitting with a buzz, causing the dress to fall open and hang loosely around Laura’s shoulders.

Carmilla wants to reach out and peel it off as one would the skin from a mandarin. Her fingers twitch but she doesn’t move and it’s Laura who, eyes fixed on Carmilla, pulls the dress off one shoulder and then the other until it falls to her stomach and she shimmies out of it, leaving her in underwear (a plain, boring sort of bra and blue polka dotted panties that might have seemed ridiculous in any other context) and thigh-high stockings. The image makes Carmilla feel faint. She wants to say something, but her tongue feels thick and lazy and she’s worried that it might only be able to articulate single syllables, like “wow” or “um” neither of which would appropriately convey her sense of awe.

Of course, the absurd fact is that Carmilla has seen Laura in various stages of undress before. Pulling off ratty pyjama pants to change into jeans, slipping out of the bathroom to grab a pair of socks. But never like this, never heavy-lidded, with kiss-swollen lips and a nervous expression.

Laura lowers her head and her hair, glorious at any other time, now serves as an obstruction. Carmilla reaches out and closes her hand over Laura’s hip, over the thin cotton _covering_ her hip and Laura’s head snaps up with a hopeful expression that Carmilla can’t quite discern, or finds she doesn’t want to, not when she’d rather be kissing her.

And so she does. She kisses her for an age, dragging her teeth over Laura’s lips, sucking on her tongue, licking into her mouth until they’re trembling against each other and Laura’s tugging on Carmilla’s shirt. She lifts it as high as she can before she gets to Carmilla’s chin and they have to break apart to get it off. Somewhere between Carmilla raising her arms and Laura yanking up, Carmilla’s necklace gets caught in her hair.

“Hold on,” she says on a breathless laugh as she attempts to manoeuvre her way out while Laura “helps” by placing light kisses against Carmilla’s clavicle and up towards her shoulder. She finally gets the damned thing off and tosses it behind her before reaching back and removing her bra in a quick, practiced motion.  

Unlike Carmilla, Laura doesn’t seem to have a problem expressing herself in monosyllabic bursts of wonder as she drags her eyes from Carmilla’s chest to her face and back again. It’s rare that Laura’s ever shocked into silence and Carmilla grins. She’s vain enough to enjoy this.

Laura raises her hand to touch, but Carmilla pushes gently against her shoulder. “Lie back,” she commands softly and Laura does. When Carmilla hovers over Laura now, it’s with purpose, it’s focused. She wants to show her, to _give_ her this.  

Laura arches into her, giving and taking with equal voracity. She bites Carmilla’s lower lip, then soothes it with her tongue. Her knee comes up between them and Laura begins to push down the sheer hosiery until Carmilla stops her.

“What are you-?” Laura begins to protest, and Carmilla takes the lacy band between her thumb and forefinger. It’s soft. Not as soft as Laura’s skin, but pleasing all the same. With a flicker of a smile, she begins to peel the hosiery down at a torturous pace, dragging blunt nails down Laura’s thigh as she goes. Laura on her back, with all her honey hair fanned out around her, her lip caught between her teeth and her eyes dark and heavy, her left ankle pressing against Carmilla’s shoulder – suddenly Carmilla understands why artists paint their lovers. The attempt to hold on to this memory will consume her. She kneels between Laura’s legs, removing her left thigh-high and then the right. Laura watches the process with a dreamy intensity and when Carmilla has liberated her legs, she raises herself slightly, eyes still trained on Carmilla’s as Laura hooks her thumbs into her panties and eases them off.

_(Her swelling lips; to which when we are come. We anchor there, and think ourselves at home.)_

Carmilla suddenly understands Donne’s preoccupation with the metaphysical. How is she supposed make sense of this very visceral experience with the swirl of abstract emotions coursing through her? Laura’s bra is off next and the more immediate dilemma is where to touch first.

She bends down and trails her tongue across the smooth ridge of Laura’s collarbone before sucking a bright red mark just below it. She can practically taste the blood rising to the surface and she forces her teeth to keep their shape, despite the overwhelming desire to pierce and consume. Laura makes gasping, impatient noises beneath her and Carmilla laughs, even as she traces her fingers across Laura’s ribs, reading them like braille. Laura stops wiggling when Carmilla’s fingertips come up to brush against the sides of her breasts. Can flesh be this soft, Carmilla thinks? She runs her tongue against her teeth, making sure they’re blunt before she dips her head and without preamble, takes a dusky pink nipple into her mouth, sucking at it greedily, while Laura gasps and gapes as if all the air has been vacuumed out of the solarium.

There’s a sudden, surprising flicker of pain as Laura’s fingernails rake up her arms and Laura mumbles. “Up. Up.”

Carmilla obliges and Laura kisses her with a hot, hungry mouth, biting and groaning. It’s suddenly different. There’s a wildness, a desperation to Laura’s actions that Carmilla absorbs and mirrors. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated Carmilla forgets poetry and abstract emotions, aware only of the little sounds that Laura makes in the back of her throat, this the way her hips cant up and says, “please, please, please,” as if she’s begging for her life.

“What do you want?” Carmilla’s lips brush against the underside of Laura’s jaw.

“I need to touch you.”

The desperate plea has Carmilla shuddering as Laura pushes up on her elbows and closes her lips against Carmilla’s neck. When she bites down on a phantom pulse point, Carmilla almost chokes on her own tongue. Pain and pleasure intermingle in just the right way. She barely has time to recover when Laura’s quick fingers are pulling at the waistband of her flimsy black underwear and Carmilla moves off to remove it herself. Laura watches this process with dark, dilated pupils - gone is the wonder, replaced now by restless desire.

The cry she makes when Carmilla inserts her leg between Laura’s and pushes up is something glorious. Carmilla lowers herself, skin against skin, and Laura grinds against her, panting into Carmilla’s mouth, chasing something just out of reach. Laura shudders into her touch as Carmilla’s fingers pull at her nipples, rolling them and teasing them while she swallows each and every one of Laura’s trembling moans. A moan becomes a confused cry of protest when Carmilla removes her knee. Carmilla takes a moment kiss her cheek, to mollify her with a sweet, chaste gesture that seems almost out-of-place in their current situation. And then Laura’s shuddering in anticipation as Carmilla’s open palm slides against the flat expanse of her stomach and down, between her legs.

Carmilla finds herself breathing out in little, excited pants, the air leaving her lungs as though she actually depended on it. Just thought of touching Laura, of having her unravel beneath her is enough to have Carmilla dizzy. Gently, ignoring the way Laura’s hips rise up impatiently (always so impatient), Carmilla strokes the insides on her thighs and her fingertips are immediately wet and sticky. She moves a slow trail up and when she brushes against Laura’s soaked centre, so hot, she thinks Laura might be a made of burning starlight after all, Laura arches up with a cry to a god, whose name Carmilla imagines doesn’t matter.

“Shh,” she murmurs, leaning forward to nudge her nose against Laura’s before gently pressing her back own. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Laura bites down on her lips and nods, her eyes rolling back as Carmilla traces the silky contours of her flesh. She moves her body over Laura’s, covering her from the outside and the night and the endless black sky. Laura bucks up, rotating her hips against Carmilla’s feather light touches, whimpering as Carmilla swirls a finger around her clit, up and down and around, around, around. She wants Laura to feel this, to be here, with her, but she suspects that Laura has been flung out into the ether, her body reduced to a single, wanting vessel.  

They’re not kissing anymore, not as Laura pants raggedly against Carmilla’s mouth. When Laura shuts her eyes and whispers, “please,” Carmilla pushes a finger inside of her. She wonders for a second if Laura even notices. She’s so wet, that Carmilla slides in easily. When she adds a second finger, Laura’s eyes fly open, so dark, they’re only pupils surrounded by a thin ring of light, splinters of topaz, quartz and other precious gems.

Carmilla fucks Laura slowly, her fingers an extension of her pulsing body. She raises herself up higher on her elbow and watches Laura begin to come apart. Her fingers bruise Carmilla’s upper arm, the other hand is tangled up in the dark fall of Carmilla’s hair. Laura pulls when Carmilla pushes her fingers up and forward, making a choking noise at the back of her throat.

In all her years of living, Carmilla has never been this moved by beauty.

Carmilla swipes a thumb against the side of Laura’s clit and then circles it and Laura shatters beneath her, like that crystal glass, except it's not the wetness of champagne on Carmilla's palm and she thinks – this is how stars explode.

Carmilla watches Laura fill her lungs with air. Her ribcage expands and contracts and freezes for a moment when Carmilla pulls her fingers out and sucks on them with eyelashes aflutter. Laura watches her through half-lidded eyes, her mouth pulled into a wide, euphoric grin. All the opium in the world could not induce such a high, Carmilla thinks as Laura yanks on the mess of hair still between her fingers. “C’mere.”

She smiles against Carmilla’s mouth, seemingly unable to mute her ecstasy, her tongue all sugar and satisfaction. They kiss softly, unhurriedly despite the way Carmilla’s body shivers and trembles. She hardly recognises the pathetic whimper that echoes through her when Laura’s hands come between them to cup her breasts.   

Carmilla feels herself being pushed back as Laura sits up and wraps her legs around her, bringing them so close that Carmilla can almost feel the blood singing through Laura’s veins. Carmilla sighs softly as Laura’s mouth whispers across the sharp line of her jaw, down the curve of her neck. Laura nips at Carmilla’s shoulder, then presses a soft, soothing kiss against the reddening skin.

She traces a slow, wet trail down Carmilla’s chest, against the curve of Carmilla’s breast and Carmilla stills, her body frozen in inarticulate ecstasy when Laura’s soft, greedy mouth closes around her nipple and she sucks hard, eliciting a low, broken groan.  She cups the back of Laura’s head as Laura draws a nipple between her teeth. Laura’s hair is damp with perspiration and her fingers get caught in the complicated tangle. When Laura bites down, Carmilla shudders from somewhere deep inside, an unfolding and unclenching of self. It takes her a moment to realise that Laura is looking at her with those wide eyes as she… what? Considers? Appraises? Carmilla’s lust addled mind tries to make sense of the expression, but she’s being pushed down and onto her back and there’s a warm, wet pressure on her stomach from where Laura is straddling her.

Above her, the sky – illimitable, unfathomable. Those myriad of stars push themselves into existence and by doing so, confirm her immortality. But not here, not with Laura, where she is exposed to the fragile hues of mortality. In Laura’s kiss -  loss, in her touch - death. Carmilla embraces it.

Automatically, Carmilla’s hands go to her waist and Laura leans forward, her hair curtaining them as they kiss.

Laura’s fingers are light against Carmilla side, soft enough to tickle and Carmilla squirms and then gasps against the promise of Laura’s mouth as Laura’s fingers brush the inside of her thigh and then up against the pooling moisture at her centre.

Laura eases up then, and with her gaze fixed on Carmilla, she lifts her fingers to her mouth and licks them, the pink tip of her tongue darting out experimentally. There’s something overwhelmingly erotic about the sight of Laura, naked and poised above Carmilla with glistening fingers caught between her bee-stung lips.

Carmilla blinks languidly, her thoughts slow and heavy, as if she were intoxicated. “You’re-” beautiful, extraordinary, everything. These are the things Carmilla would say if she wasn’t so focused on the way Laura has begun to move down her body, pausing to kiss the underside of her breasts, the dip of her navel, the full curve of her sex.

Carmilla waits, tense and trembling, paralysed in anticipation. Seconds move like hours and she strains up, to see Laura between her thighs, her face screwed up in concentration as if attempting to solve an equation. Carmilla would have laughed if she wasn’t embarrassingly aware of the slow trickle along the juncture of her inner thigh.

Laura’s gaze suddenly flicks up and their stare at each other for an eternity or two, the air between them crackling and hot. Carmilla reaches down and trails the back of her knuckles against Laura’s cheek and her eyelashes flutter. So young, Carmilla thinks suddenly and something inside of her twists and pulls painfully, but then Laura smiles – a thin, wisp of a smile.

She dips her head and Carmilla is lost. 

The air leaves her body like a freight train, rushing out a whoosh of release.

Laura places lingering kisses against Carmilla’s overheated flesh before darting out her tongue. Her technique is haphazard and untrained and Carmilla is already coming apart at the seams.

She throws an arm over her face to block out the light, the stars, the world itself. Laura runs her tongue along soft, wet ridges and curves before swirling it around and around. She shouldn’t be so good at this, Carmilla thinks, fighting back another cry.

She loses the battle when Laura’s lips clamp over her and she sucks Carmilla’s pulsing clit into her mouth. 

Laura looks up, startled at the sound and Carmilla’s hips buck up, in search of that tongue, now criminally hidden behind lips and teeth. “Don’t--” she gasps, willing Laura’s head back down, “—stop.”

There’s a brief flicker of smugness on Laura’s face before she returns to her task. In any other context, with any other person. Carmilla would be slightly embarrassed at how quickly she’s reached breaking point, but with Laura, it’s welcome and necessary. She feels herself arch up and go spinning off - all broken moans and the two rounded syllables that make up Laura’s name. A sort of incantation to the night.

She feels the heavy rise and fall of her chest. Breathing calms her, it gives her body the cadence it requires without a beating heart. She’s half aware of the body sidling up beside her and Carmilla opens her eyes.

Laura is on her side, looking down at Carmilla with an expression of unchartered wonder. “That was…”

Carmilla smiles. She raises her hand and wipes her thumb across Laura’s shiny, wet mouth then brings it around to cup Laura’s neck and urge her down. They kiss softly, barely brushing their lips together.

“I didn’t think I’d be any good,” Laura confesses against Carmilla’s cheek. “--at that.”

Carmilla’s smile widens. She’s smiled more in the last few weeks that she has in entire decades before. It’s a strange thing.

“You are,” Carmilla’s voice is husky from overuse. She shifts slightly, and Laura lies down next to her, curling into Carmilla so perfectly, not even the Titans could pull them apart.

“Although,” she runs her palm down dips and curves of Laura’s body, feeling the muscles twitch and contract in response.

“Although what?” Laura’s voice is small, edged with insecurity and Carmilla turns her head to sweetly kiss the tip of Laura’s nose, even as her hand moves down to cup Laura’s ass.

“There’s always room for improvement.”

Laura shuffles even closer, their sweat dampened skin, sticky. “I guess that involves practice huh?” Laura’s voice cracks and her heart rate picks up. It beats against Carmilla as if it were Carmilla's own.

“I find that learning through experience always helps.”

Carmilla feels Laura grinning against her. “I promise to be a very diligent pupil.”

She laughs softly, feeling warmth bloom from inside of her and radiate outward as if her body is too small, too insubstantial to contain it. “I have no doubt.”

The night ticks on. The puzzle of constellations above her has shifted and changed, as it does. Around them, the campus is as quiet as a graveyard. Carmilla hears muffled footsteps, the wings of an owl and somewhere a wolf sings at the moon. She knows Laura hears none of it.

“I’m glad I’m here,” Laura murmurs, after an age or so has gone by. Her voice is small and sleepy and she rubs idle circles over Carmilla’s stomach. “With you.”

Carmilla sighs and links their fingers together. Their hands rest over her stomach, and every cliché, every sonnet and song rattles around inside her.

There are things she wants to say - an ocean of words like waves behind her teeth, but she can’t open her mouth because it would drown them both and Laura can’t breathe underwater.

Instead she kisses Laura once, twice and says, “Me too.”

(to the observing stars, it sounds like _I love you, I love you, I love you_ )


	2. Laura

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Marriage Equality! To celebrate same-sex marriage being the law of the (American) land, here's some lesbian porn! T-That's how everyone is celebrating, right? ;)

Afterwards, Laura won't remember how she got there. She won't remember tripping over the carpet runner in the hallway (though the rug burn on her knee reminds her). She won't remember the loud, protesting creaks of the old stairs beneath her weight, nor will she remember almost crashing into a suit of armor as she turns a tight corner. She'll only remember the rush of blood in her ears, the steady whooshing of it loud enough to block out anything else, and the thrumming thought — the only thought — that she has to get up to the roof before Carmilla.

It's a profoundly stupid idea, of course. She's not going to outrun a vampire. Not with Carmilla's super speed and super grace and super everything.

But it doesn't mean Laura doesn't want to _try_.

She reaches the roof in a sprint, shoving open the door ungracefully. For a second she thinks she's won — the glass walls of the solarium swimming dizzyingly in her vision with no hint of Carmilla — and there's a satisfied stab of victory that goes through her. Victory feels an awful lot like the stitch in her side, Laura briefly thinks, before she opens the solarium door. She can't wait to brag about it to —

Carmilla.

Obviously.

"Well, you certainly took your time," Carmilla says, sounding very amused.

Which is, frankly, just rubbing salt in the wound. "You obviously cheated," Laura says, but she can only muster up a hint of annoyance. It's hard to be annoyed with Carmilla when she's looking at Laura like that, her gaze very dark, and her hair tumbling across her face. It's a look that makes Laura's bones ache.

"You didn't _really_ think you had a chance?" Carmilla says, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards ever-so-slightly. "Vampire, remember?"

As if Laura could ever forget, just from staring at Carmilla's blood-red mouth. Her eyes drop, lingering on Carmilla's lips. A sudden throb of want pulses in her, low and warm, and Laura almost loses her train of thought. She sucks in a breath.

"But you still cheated," she says, edging a step closer. "You used your vampire wiles. You could've just ran. Leveled the playing field."

They're on the verge of something now and they're both fully aware. Laura could taste it on Carmilla's tongue when they kissed downstairs, heady and breathless anticipation, both of them tipping into something deeper. Laura links her hands behind her back like a kid, feeling suddenly stupidly nervous. She's never — well, Carmilla knows.

"You would rather I handicap myself so you could win?"

Duh.

"No," Laura says, folding her arms. "I accept your unfair vampire advantages. Even if it's cheating. Which it is, by the way, and you can contest that, but I'm thinking that the judges would — "

She pauses. Carmilla's got a blanket draped over her arm, and there's a champagne bottle dangling from her fingers. Condensation beads along the glass, dripping onto the ground. Laura watches a droplet fall, staining the packed dirt beneath their feet. She knew — how did she _know_?

Being with Carmilla is this very specific form of happiness. A unique, Carmilla-shaped joy. Laura can feel herself starting to grin. "You totally planned this," she says, wondering how and why and when. She loves that Carmilla had hoped too, just as Laura had, but this makes it that more real.

"I may have…given it some thought."

The way she says it, throaty and low, is one of the hotter things Laura's heard. She can't help but blush at the implication, pinking just about everywhere, feeling the air between them heat up just from that. Carmilla spreads out the blanket and — Laura's palms are getting sweaty. She tries to wipe them unobtrusively on the sides of her skirt. She's expecting Carmilla to pull her down, cover Laura's mouth with her own, but there's a beat. Maybe two. Carmilla just gently straightens the corners of the blanket.

Oh my god, Laura realizes with a sudden wave of panic. She's read the situation all _wrong_. Carmilla _literally_ meant they were going to stargaze, and Laura, because she's read so much porn-y fanfiction, twisted it to mean _sex_. Seriously, who does that? Some pervert, probably. And, you know, Laura.

Carmilla looks at her, expectant, sitting back on her heels.

"Oh," Laura manages. "We're — gonna — ? Oh. I thought…"

She trails off, knowing Carmilla can fill in the blank herself. Though that kind of makes the situation worse. She clears her throat and looks down at the ground, but not before she catches a glimpse of Carmilla's carefully arched eyebrow. Laura's cheeks are flaming.

"You wanted to stargaze, right?"

Laura nods, a little too fast, trying to keep her disappointment in check. She so thought — was it not obvious when she took off the cardigan? Did she not kiss sexily enough? What's wrong with her that Carmilla wouldn't want to — wouldn't be interested in — ? "Yes. Stargaze. This is — this is really good. Romantic."

There's something wrong with her, obviously. Laura's _extremely_ hot girlfriend has actually gone through the trouble of setting up champagne beneath the stars, and Laura's disappointed that they're not having sex? She needs to have her head examined. It's like the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for her.

"Champagne?" Carmilla asks, popping the cork.

She pours it into flutes, the delicate liquid fizzing and foaming as she does. Carmilla tips the flutes with one hand, letting the champagne run down sideways, and finishes by twisting the bottle with a flick of her wrist. Laura once heard that's how you're supposed to do it — it's the professional thing — but she's always preferred soda to alcohol. Carmilla hands her a flute, fingers delicately balanced around the stem, and Laura receives it gingerly. She's suddenly worried she'll break it, and she turns it in her hold, moonlight reflecting off the glass.

She stares at it, and up at the stars beyond, and thinks that maybe there's something to champagne after all. "Thanks." She twirls the glass one more time, feeling the quiet between them thicken, and maybe, Laura thinks, maybe it'll be more than stargazing after all. A shiver runs all the way up her spine. "This is nice," she blurts out, feeling goosebumps on her bare arms.

"Are you cold?" Carmilla asks at the same time.

Laura laughs, nervous. "I'm okay." She glances at Carmilla, and there's an expression there Laura can't read — something torn and deep and almost sad. She takes a sip of the champagne to distract herself, the bright flavor bursting on her tongue, sweet and dry.

When she puts the flute back down, Carmilla leans in, hurried, like she can't wait any longer. Laura tilts her head towards Carmilla, her grip on the glass loosening, and it drops from her hand. There's a sudden cold bloom down her front, sinking quickly through the fabric of her dress, and the delicate shattering of the flute on the ground. Laura inhales, sharp, and all there is is the smell of champagne. It covers even the sharp scent of greenery in the solarium. She flinches, drawing back, and Carmilla reacts too.

They stare at each other for a moment, silent, unsure.

"I… Sorry," Laura stammers. She reaches a hand for the shards, but Carmilla intercepts her. Her fingers are warm and strong around Laura's wrist.

"Are you okay?"

Laura nods, feeling stupid again. She's damp and there's broken glass all over and. "I — yeah. Just a little wet."

Carmilla's thumb rubs at her pulsepoint, and even that sends a small spark along Laura's nerves. She'll go insane if this continues. "Do you want a — "

"You," Laura says, forcefully, because she does, and she's done waiting, and she can't sit still any longer. "I just want you."

Her impatience bubbles over, and Laura pulls Carmilla in close, breathing her in, that dark and flowery scent that lingers on Carmilla's skin. She tilts her mouth close for a second, holding, and then Carmilla's lips are on hers, and Laura feels a rush of heat flood her body. She's kissed Carmilla hundreds of times by now — stolen, soft kisses, chaste kisses — but Laura doesn't think she'll ever get tired of it. Carmilla kisses hard enough to bruise, and Laura leans in to match her, feeling a sudden desperation to be closer. She slants her mouth over Carmilla's, grazes her teeth against Carmilla's bottom lip. Her heart gives a small lurch when Carmilla inhales, sharp.

So much for stargazing.

Laura pulls Carmilla on top of her, lying back, the ground cold even through the blanket and her dress. She opens her eyes, and beyond the tangle of Carmilla's hair and the wild look in her eyes, Laura can see the dark band of stars above them, infinite and expansive. It dizzies her for a second and she has to refocus on Carmilla in front of her, kissing her jaw, the bridge of her nose. Laura thinks briefly of all the girls Carmilla's been with, all the study buddies and flings throughout the centuries, and — what if she's not good enough? What if she's a disappointment? Yeah, sure, she's mastered masturbation, big deal, but this. This is vastly different. The front of her dress is suddenly uncomfortably wet, and Laura's intensely aware of how exposed they are, in this glass room.

Carmilla's hand grazes the plane of Laura's stomach, her touch gentle through the fabric. Laura makes a soft noise, unable to stop her automatic reaction, and her body stills.

Fuck. Carmilla's hand immediately freezes.

"Is this okay?" Carmilla asks, a quiet strain in her voice.

Laura's dad taught her to swim when she was four. She stood in the shallow end of the freezing lake, watching her cousins splash around, and wouldn't go any further. Her dad had stooped down to her eye level, taken her hands in his, and told her to be brave — it would be worth it, could she be brave?

So Laura nods, keeping her gaze trained on Carmilla's familiar face. She can be brave, she thinks, and the nerves unfurl in the pit of her stomach, loosening their hold on her. Carmilla kisses her again, so gently, her lips barely moving. Laura follows her lead, sinking into the familiarity of this, letting it build until she's hot and jittery, feeling like her skin can't contain all of her.

She reaches behind her for the zipper of her dress, needing it off. She hesitates midway there, her hand awkwardly twisted behind her, Carmilla looking at her with her swollen mouth. Staring. "Um… C-can…should I?" Laura asks, wondering again if she's read something wrong.

"Yeah," Carmilla breathes, barely audible and reverent, and Laura relaxes.

She gets to knees to take it off, keeping her eyes on Carmilla's face First unzipping it and loosening the top, and then slipping out of the arms and drawing it slowly down. It's not a very sexy move, Laura finds when a strand of her hair is caught in the zipper and she has to yank her head free. She wishes she had had the foresight to wear something that could come off more easily. A skirt maybe, and a t-shirt. She's still thinking about it when she manages to peel the dress off herself, kicking it aside with one foot. She wishes she had known. She would have put on a nicer bra, one that wasn't fraying at the straps, and underwear with some lace on it. The elastic tops of the stockings are digging into her thighs, and she's sure they'll leave behind pink indentations in the skin.

Even _Laura_ has underwear bought with that intention in mind, though she had hid it in a shopping bag from the bookstore until she could secret it away in her room.

Carmilla's expression doesn't flicker, her hands at her side. Laura rubs at her bare arm. It's cold and she's kneeling in front of Carmilla with polka-dotted underwear, and this was dumb, this was so dumb — she leans away to prod at the broken glass still nearby, worried that they'll somehow step on them.

It's Carmilla's hand that stops her, a palm against the jut of her hipbone. The heat rolling off her skin makes Laura twitch, and there's a throb between her thighs. Carmilla kisses her again, hard and hot, and Laura's knees are hurting from bracing her weight, but she doesn't care. Not when she can find the point of Carmilla's fangs with her tongue. Not when Carmilla's mouth tastes of familiar copper. Laura drops her hands to Carmilla's sides, her hands impatiently pushing up the hem of Carmilla's shirt, but unwilling to drag her mouth away from Carmilla's. She allows herself several more long kisses before she draws away, trying to pull the shirt up and over Carmilla's head.

Which, once again, always pans out in the fanfiction Laura's read. Goddamn fanfiction never mentions that Carmilla's necklace might get tangled in her hair, and how they'll have to spend a minute working the chain and shirt free. Laura lets Carmilla do it, paying more attention to Carmilla's exposed collarbones. She's pressing a lingering kiss against the hollow between Carmilla's neck and shoulder when Camilla reaches behind herself and takes off her bra in one, fluid gesture.

Oh.

_Oh._

Laura thinks she must say it aloud because Carmilla smiles with a catlike smugness. She doesn't mean to blurt it out, but she can't help it. She feels like a teenaged boy. She reaches up a hand, fingers hooked into nothing, her heart beating fast.

"Lie back," Carmilla says, pressing gently at Laura's shoulder, and Laura feels a twist in her stomach just at the look on Carmilla's face.

Carmilla drapes herself over Laura, her hair curtaining them from the stars. Laura reaches for her, and Carmilla finds her with her mouth. It's a searing kiss, Laura gasping into it, and Carmilla leans in closer, tighter. Laura shifts a leg, and feels the soft fabric of her stockings against skin. She raises a knee, still consumed by Carmilla's kiss, eager to take them off. Carmilla closes a hand over hers, stilling it.

"What are you — ?" Laura starts, but the words die in her mouth when she realizes what Carmilla's doing, peeling off her stockings with a careful touch.

Laura watches. There's an intensity in Carmilla's eyes as she works, gently easing down the fabric. Laura shivers, following Carmilla's hands down from her thighs to her ankles. She tosses the stockings aside, and Laura makes a decision. She slides off her underwear, damp already, kicking them away when she gets them down to her feet. Carmilla's gaze is open and wondrous — like Laura's the only thing in the room that exists. It's a thought that thrills and scares Laura at the same time, and her breath catches in her throat. Carmilla reaches a hand beneath Laura's back, undoing her bra clasp easily.

Centuries of practice, Laura thinks. Modern bras are a long way from corsets.

Carmilla's lips graze Laura's clavicle, mouthing at it. She traces the line of bone with her tongue, sucking a mark beneath the divot at the base of Laura's throat. It hurts in a glorious way, Laura's fingers curling in on a fist. Laura's breathless and pliant, feeling her heart thunder in her chest, wanting everything. It feels amazing, Carmilla's skin against hers, the way she tickles and touches Laura's body. She presses kisses everywhere, and strokes the sides of Laura's breasts. Laura inhales with sharp surprise when Carmilla closes her mouth around one of Laura's hard nipples, flicking the tip with her tongue. It's a sudden, almost violent spike of pleasure that goes through her.

"Oh," she groans breathily, tilting her head back, and Carmilla makes an answering noise in return.

She sucks, nipping lightly at Laura's sensitive skin, and Laura thinks she makes a choking sound. Her whole body is _buzzing_. Laura pulls Carmilla back to her, Carmilla's lips wet and shiny. Laura's not even sure how to communicate what she's feeling to Carmilla, how incredible it is, so she tries the next best thing — she kisses Carmilla long and hard, hungry and desperate. Her hips push up, and the insides of her thighs feel slippery. Laura hears someone saying "please" over and over again, and it takes her a moment to realize it's her.

"What do you want?" Carmilla murmurs, her fingers stroking the ridges of Laura's spine.

"I need to touch you," Laura says, and it comes out like a whine.

She leans up, pushing Carmilla back, dragging her mouth along Carmilla's neck. Carmilla squirms beneath her touch, Laura scraping her teeth across skin. She bites down and Carmilla lets out a drugged gasp. It's a sound Laura wouldn't mind hearing again. She soothes the spot, peppering it with soft kisses, Carmilla letting out a small whimper. Laura slides a hand down to Carmilla's waist, hooking a forefinger into the waistband of Carmilla's underwear. She tugs. She's all impatience now, wanting to see everything. Carmilla slides it off, one ankle at a time, tossing the scrap of fabric aside.

Carmilla leans over Laura again, naked and gorgeous, and Laura puts a hand to her shoulder, wanting to push Carmilla back again just so she can _look_ properly — and — _fuck._ Carmilla's pressing her knee up and against Laura and it's the perfect amount of friction. Laura lets out a embarrassingly broken moan, burying her face in Carmilla's neck, thrusting her hips down into it. Carmilla rocks back against her, grinding her knee forcefully. She kisses Laura, all messy and wet, Laura keening all the while. They set up a rhythm, and Laura feels something starting to coil in the pit of her stomach, tightening like a clockwork spring.

It stops when Carmilla moves her knee away.

"No — " Laura starts to say, grabbing at Carmilla's arm, but Carmilla just brushes her off.

She reaches with her right hand, in between Laura's open legs, and Laura closes her eyes. Carmilla's touch is gentle, a little hesitant, as she explores with her fingers. Laura can hear herself breathe, panting hard and fast, her face flushed. Carmilla runs her hand up the inside of Laura's thigh, thumb brushing wet heat, and Laura lets out a strange sort of surprised sob at the burst of pleasure. Carmilla soothes her with a free hand. She strokes Laura, finding her clit, her fingers sure. Laura stares up at the stars, the whorl the Milky Way clear and bright above them, and her hands fist at the blanket she's lying on.

Carmilla presses her face close to Laura's, lips parted, but they don't kiss. Laura can't — she's forgotten how to do anything except _feel_ , panting ragged and broken against Carmilla's open mouth. The sound she makes when Carmilla slides a finger in, and then two, is unfamiliar to even Laura. It makes Laura feel like she's coming apart, like the world's splitting in half. Everything is _spinning_ around her. Carmilla's hair hangs wild and messy around their faces, her gaze pinning Laura in place, dark and hot. She crooks her fingers in Laura, and Laura cries out, the pressure perfect. She's almost overwhelmed with it. Her thoughts are threatening to splinter, come apart at the seams. Carmilla's fingers fill her, twisting, bending. She just needs — a little —

Carmilla strokes across her clit, and Laura comes so hard her legs cramp. She shakes, waves of pleasure inundating her, rolling her hips. Carmilla fucks her through the orgasm, rhythmically thrusting until Laura's left trembling, gasping at the aftershocks. Carmilla gently draws her hand away. She licks her fingers clean, and Laura almost expects her to purr. Laura takes another moment to catch her breath, wait for it to settle evenly.

"C'mere," she mumbles, feeling boneless, gazing up at Carmilla through half-shut eyes.

Laura kisses her, soft. Because "thank you" seems woefully inadequate, and Laura's not sure she has the words otherwise. Carmilla makes the tiniest sounds, little needy noises that Laura drinks in. She starts to sit up, bracing herself first on her elbows, and then pushing herself upright. She keeps kissing Carmilla, brushing her lips against those cheekbones, an earlobe, down her jawline and pressing butterfly kisses against the column of her throat. She kisses the curve of Carmilla's breast, and Carmilla lets out a long, shivering sigh. Laura continues, needing to map Carmilla's body, needing to know this in intimate detail. She draws a circle around Carmilla's peaked nipple with her tongue, leaving behind a shiny, wet trail that glistens in moonlight. Laura pauses, nudges at the dusky nipple with the tip of her nose, and takes it into her mouth.

The noise that escapes Carmilla is instantly the hottest thing Laura's ever heard.

She wants to hear it again, so she sucks, and Carmilla shudders. She tangles a hand through Laura's hair — Laura can feel her fingers winding their way through the already knotted strands. Laura traces the rough ridges of Carmilla's nipple with her teeth, and the answering moan is so desperately sweet. She raises her head and pushes Carmilla further down, until Laura's straddling her, looking down into Carmilla's face. There's a surprising amount of color in her cheeks, and her eyes are glazed over with want. The look makes Laura shiver. She leans down for a kiss, Carmilla arching into it, as Laura runs her hands down Carmilla's ribcage. She touches the soft skin in the crease between Carmilla's thigh and hip, and Carmilla's legs fall open. Laura traces the inside of Carmilla's thigh, stopping when she feels wetness against her fingertips.

She's not sure why she does it — except that it feels right in the moment — but Laura draws her hand back to her mouth. She licks at the gathered moisture on her forefinger. Carmilla tastes salty, like seawater, and there's something faintly bitter that reminds Laura of dark coffee. It's not bad — Laura could grow to like it. She sucks her finger clean, and Carmilla's pupils are blown wide.

"You're — " Carmilla starts, but Laura doesn't let her finish.

She kisses her way down the length of Carmilla's body, pausing to mouth at a spot to the right of Carmilla's diaphragm. Carmilla gasps, and when Laura draws away, she can see the purpling bruise forming against the pale skin. Laura presses her lips to the inside of Carmilla's hip, the top of her thigh. She stops there, breathing slow, feeling her heart thud in her chest. There's a strange mixture of nervous anticipation lodged in her throat. Laura's certainly not the first girl who's been here, with Carmilla, doing this, and she's never — not once — look, fantasizing is very different from actuality.

Laura glances up at Carmilla. The look goes on forever, locked eyes, hot and heavy. Carmilla brushes the back of her hand gently across Laura's face, her touch so soft.

It suddenly feels like Laura's heart might burst, this twisting sensation inside her. Laura takes a deep breath and gives Carmilla a smile. She drops her head, nosing at the dark thatch of hair. Carmilla's wet and hot against her mouth, and Laura laps at her, spurred on by Carmilla's reaction. All she can smell is Carmilla, musky, and the taste of her is dark and overwhelming. She laves the flat over her tongue over Carmilla's clit, relishing the panting sounds of pleasure from above her. Laura closes her mouth around Carmilla's clit, sucking hard.

"Fuck!" Carmilla cries out, bucking her hips so hard that Laura draws back, alarmed. Carmilla shakes her head, her eyes huge and shiny, her voice hoarse with need. "Don't stop."

Laura allows herself a small, satisfied grin. She gathers herself close again, gently licking. Carmilla's trembling, and Laura curls her fingers against Carmilla's thigh, holding her still. She slides her tongue up and into Carmilla, feeling her tight around her, and Carmilla comes with a sob, choking out Laura's name. She thrusts her hips as Laura keeps her mouth there, pressing damp kisses to Carmilla's skin. It takes a few moments before she's done, breathing heavily, her eyes screwed tightly shut.

Laura wipes her mouth on her arm and crawls back up so she can look down at Carmilla's face. Carmilla's eyes flutter open, gaze still faintly glassy, and Laura wonders if that's what she looked like too. "That was…"

She lets it trail off, words failing her yet again. Amazing. Wonderful. Nothing seems to be right. But Carmilla smiles anyway, leaning in to kiss her.

"I didn't think I'd be any good at that," Laura says quietly, feeling herself blush.

"You are," Carmilla murmurs.

She moves, giving Laura room on the blanket to lie down. Carmilla wraps her arms around Laura from behind, brushing a kiss against Laura's bare shoulder. Laura can feel herself starting to cool down, sweat drying on skin. All around them, the night is still, the solarium silent. Laura breathes in the scent of the plants. The air is pleasantly warm, the moonlight just enough to see by. It's perfect.

"Although," Carmilla continues, her voice throaty.

Laura stiffens. "Although what?"

Carmilla turns her, a hand beneath Laura's chin, and kisses her nose. "There's always room for improvement."

"I guess that involves practice, huh?" Laura replies, moving a hand between their bodies, tracing the ridge of Carmilla's collarbone with her finger. There's a reddish mark there, already fading. Laura almost wishes Carmilla didn't heal so quickly, so she can still see what she's left on Carmilla's body tomorrow.

"I find that learning through experience always helps," Carmilla drawls.

Laura smiles. She can't help it. Even though part of her wants to roll her eyes. "I promise to be a very diligent pupil."

"I have no doubt."

They settle into quiet. Laura nuzzles her head against Carmilla's, sleepy and content. "I'm glad I'm here with you," she says after a few minutes, long enough that her eyelids are drooping, and her limbs are going pleasantly slack. She doesn't want to sleep — there's a whole night before them — but maybe if she just closes her eyes for a little bit — she just needs a few minutes to recuperate.

Carmilla laces their fingers, resting between them. Her expression has gone quiet, almost soft, studying Laura. She kisses Laura twice, her mouth lingering. "Me too," she whispers, in a tone so tender Laura could cry.

Instead she just squeezes their intertwined hands. I love you, she wants to say, but doesn't. Carmilla rubs the pad of her thumb against Laura's stomach, and Laura's eyes close.

The last thing Laura remembers are the stars, blinking and bright, above them.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is also known as: That time (Alex)² decided to use their joint powers for porn instead of evil. Bts footage of the process includes a google doc full of smut and lots of inappropriate laughter.
> 
> Chapter 1 written by mermaiddrunk.  
> Chapter 2 written by Care


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